


Too Late

by candyisdandy



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 15:18:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candyisdandy/pseuds/candyisdandy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i finally fucking finished it hoorah (oooh alliteration my english teacher would be proud)</p><p>thanks again to my beta inkonherhands, i'm sorry for the abrupt ending i couldn't deal with another unfinished story and yeah i hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading</p>
        </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Alcohol doesn’t ruin your brain. It just makes it more aware of the negatives in the world.

This was what the curly haired man with the worst hangover in history was repeating softly to himself in the corner, whilst rubbing his temples cautiously.

The light that fell in soft shafts across the room was eating away at his skin and stabbing glass into his eyes. The cool breeze was both not enough to lower his burning temperature and speckled his tanned arms with goosebumps.

Fragmented memories of the previous night were slowly piecing together, giving him an imprint of an idea of just how fucking stupid he was. Last night was probably the first time he hadn’t been drunk alone.

If all parties were like that one though, he was perfectly content to sit in his dingy apartment and fuck away his life, instead of completely screwing it up.

A light (no fuck that was loud Jesus Christ could they keep it down?) knocking interrupted his muddled musings.

Dark hair swept through the crack of light spilling into the room (or cupboard?) he was – well, the best word would be sprawled – in.

“’Taire!” she screeched. He moaned dramatically and tried to hide from her, to no avail. She yanked the bottle of cheap rosé from his hand, threw the curtains open, and then slapped him out of his drunken haze – literally.

“Éponine, kindly fuck off.” he muttered into the tweed (wait, what?) coat draped over him. He heard her sit down almost right next to him, and then he felt her hot breaths on his neck.

“You are annoying, stop breathing on me.”

The breathing stopped.

He was about to thank her, when he heard a little gasp escape her mouth.

“Grantaire, what the hell have you done?!” she exclaimed, hand over her mouth.

He racked his brain for all the possible things she could be referring to, but could think of none that she would have managed to find out about / would be shocked by. He caught her eye. Equal measures of glee and shock were mixing in with the dark chocolate brown of her pupils.

“What do you look so happy about?” “You can’t answer a question with a question, that’s bad grammar.” She smirked at him, and ripped the coat from his shivering body.

“Hey!” he shouted indignantly. She flashed him a scheming grin, and peered inside the coat, looking for evidence of its owner. It obviously wasn't Grantaire's, it was far too nice and expensive. The particular coat didn't seem to belong to anyone, and so Éponine threw herself back next to him.

"Who was it, 'Taire?" she asked quietly, a hint of jealousy tinging the enthusiastic curiosity he knew she was trying to convey. He sighed to himself, and glanced over at the girl now with her head resting on his shoulder. Their breaths began to even out, until each deep inhalation and exhalation were in sync with each other. This was a routine they kept falling into. Grantaire supposed they were best friends now, although he couldn't be sure, because really she was his only (and first) proper friend. He was ridiculously grateful for her lasting presence though.

"I don't - 'Ponine, I can't -." "Another drunk one night stand, I understand." she said curtly, interrupting him mid-sentence. She was being so abrupt with him lately, and he suspected it had something to do with that rich Bonapartist idiot, who sometimes hung out with Courfeyrac, his roommate.

"No, I didn't have sex last night." he half chuckled (half sighed) into the cupboard that was slowly filling with light. The door she had left ajar opened a little more with every second, allowing them a view into the hall outside. So far, Grantaire hadn't recognised anything. So if he didn't even know where he was, how did Éponine find him? She spun herself around so their eyes made contact, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Then why do you have someone else's coat?! There are holes in your story, 'Taire!"

"How do you know it's not my coat?" he replied, feigning hurt at the suggestion that the jacket he'd rather die than wear was not his. She rolled her eyes and huffed an unnecessary amount of air out of her nose. Something was definitely up with her and Pontmercy.

They remained like that for a long time, Éponine searching frantically for evidence of the possessor of the coat, and Grantaire resting his head, which felt like it weighed 10 tonnes, against the cracking wall. The only times their comfortable silence was interrupted was when the brunette thought she found something, and voiced her excitement with a whoop or hoorah, but then groaned when she realised she'd imagined it. Again. Grantaire tried to explain to himself what exactly had happened last night (he really wasn't at all sure), when suddenly Apologise began to blast out of his iPhone. Éponine narrowed her eyes at the interruption, but carried on searching. He struggled to pull the phone out of the pocket of his jeans for a few seconds (why did they have to be so goddamn skinny?), before succeeding and grinning triumphantly. He dragged his finger across the screen to answer.

"Good morning. Unfortunately Grantaire is hungover right now and so cannot return your call until he has at least another glass of something stronger than Carrefoure rosé in him. We're very sorry for the inconvenience."

"Stop being a dick and meet me at the Musain in 1 hour." At the first syllable of the all too familiar voice, Grantaire's whole body froze completely. He was so in shock that he heard every breath on the other side of the phone, and could feel Éponine's confused eyes trying to work out what was going on. He felt like ice and fire were simultaneously tumbling through the blood in his veins, and couldn't help the grin beginning to develop on his face.

"Sure thing, Apollo. Be there in 30 minutes." He heard the other man sigh into the receiver and then the beep that indicated the end of their exchange.

"ENJOLRAS?!" Éponine bellowed at him; face contorting into expressions Grantaire didn't even know were possible. She slammed her fists into his arm relentlessly whilst pouring a stream of insults.

"Hey, calm down there Thénardier!" A look of incredulousness and equal dislike for her name crossed her face.

"Firstly, never call me that. Secondly, couldn't you have just fucking told me in this first place? I've spent hours labouring over this!"

"It's been like ten minutes Ep'." he said, sniggering at her anger, but also becoming increasing scared by it. She stared at him for what seemed like eternity, her enormous brown eyes never closing to blink. Her face did not change at all in the space of time that seemed to span for hours.

"YOU SLEPT WITH ENJOLRAS?!" she screamed suddenly, snapping Grantaire out of his examination of her features. He raised his hands in front of his face, partly in apology, and partly in protection of the face he sometimes valued. Trying to repress a grin, he began to attempt to console her.

"Look, it's not like you think 'Ponine. I don't thi- I _know_ we didn't sleep together. C'mon, ma belle," A small smile turned up the corners of her lipstick stained lips at the nickname he used for her.

"Don’t you think I would remember _that?_  I'd be ecstatic! And you would be the first person I told, you know that."

Her aggressive posture relaxed, and she smiled at the overly nice words of her best friend as she rested her head on his shoulder once more. He stroked her hair lightly, and they slid once more into their normal fit. He began to think about why Enjolras would possibly want to speak to him, he didn't even look at him normally (and that's on good days). And he wondered why the Musain. Was the mobile phone not good enough?

It wasn't until later that he realised the irony of the ringtone he set for his phone. He only picked it because it was catchy and fun to belt in the shower while _shut the hell up or I will come in there and shove a couple of these goddamn bottles you leave everywhere where the sun don't shine_ echoed through the wall. Éponine is quite scary when she wants to be though (which he expects comes from her dodgy parents, and her perhaps boyfriend Montparnasse), so he quiets down (for a second or two).

Oh, what a pathetic disaster his life has become.


	2. Chapter 2

Somewhere between talking to Enjolras and then Éponine, Grantaire must have fallen asleep.

“Ah, shit.” he muttered.

He glanced at the clock on the all types of stained wall, hoping he wasn’t too late.

Two hours.

Well, it was better than other deadlines he’d promised to keep (he still hadn’t given in a piece of art coursework for his GCSE, and he left school 3 years ago).

He tumbled down the rickety stairs, threw the door open and was greeted with a gale that was so fucking strong he thought he was going to be ripped to shreds. His wild hair (he hadn’t even tried to tame it since the disastrous attempt in 2008 at his mother’s third wedding) danced in the wind and into his eyes and _why the fuck didn’t he grab a hat or something_.

As he ran through the winding alleys of Paris, he silently thanked whoever had dumped him in that cupboard because the block of flats it was in was apparently only two streets over from the Musain.

He hurtled towards the increasingly familiar street that contained the café where his whole life had changed, and would hopefully change again today.

The laces of his ratty Converse had somehow untied themselves and threatened to trip him up as he flew through the open door. He shot a grin at Marius, who was blushing profusely while the pretty blonde girl behind the counter (she was called Cosette, and was apparently the bane of Éponine’s existence) talked about some politics thing. Pontmercy was infatuated with her, and painfully obliviously to Ep. He had no time for pity for his best friend, however, because _Enjolras wanted to talk to him_.

He almost missed Enjolras sat peacefully in an armchair - because it wasn’t his normal seat - how could he not notice him otherwise? – in a dark corner of the café.

Grantaire dropped onto the leather sofa opposite, to which Enjolras sniffed haughtily (he was against using animal skin as material or something).

“Grantaire, I am certain you are curious as to why I asked you to meet me.” he said formally. He never seemed to have time for small talk, and cut straight to it. He was also always so stiff, and Grantaire often wondered if the hypothetical stick up his arse had somehow manifested into reality.

“The suspense is killing me.” he replied, accompanied by a sarcastic grin that he was barely seen without.

“I am aware that I may have said some rather unsavoury things last night, while I was under the influence of… alcohol,” he winced, as if the very notion pained him. How much pain did Grantaire’s constant state of inebriety cause him then?

“And I would like to apologise.”

Grantaire was complete taken aback by that. He had had the complete opposite reaction to Enjolras, apparently. For once, he doesn’t have a snarky comment or taunt at the tip of his tongue.

“Wh- what? They weren’t unsavoury, Enj.”

The beautiful man in front of him cringed at the nickname the group had taken to using for him (Grantaire used it for the cringe).

“Do you actually remember what you said?” he asked desperately, praying Orestes was referring to something – anything – else.

“Well, I think that I said something about you and I… um…” he went a shade of scarlet that rivalled the (of course he’d decided to wear that one) hooded jacket he always wore. Something about it representing the new world they were building.

“You and I engaging in sexual activities.” He whispered the last two words, looking around as if everyone was listening intently to their conversation.

Grantaire swallowed the pain induced by the shame Enjolras obviously felt at even suggesting it in a drunken stupor, and smiled slightly.

“Well, of course we couldn’t have our almighty leader asking to fuck our resident drunkard; what a scandal that would cause!”

“Grantaire,” he began, his eyebrows drawing together in mock concern. He didn’t even feel anger at Grantaire anymore; he had become such a pest. Grantaire dug his nails into his forearm to stop himself spitting this out.

“Don’t “Grantaire” me, Enjolras. We both know what you’re thinking, and you try to fix me, and you never will, even though you are basically the hero of every story. Fix someone who’s worth it, babe.”

At the use of “babe”, Enjolras turned around, fury beginning to cloud his eyes.

“I’m just a man, I’m not a hero.” he retorted, and Grantaire immediately forgot whatever he was mad at this impossible angel stood in front of him for because he quoted lyrics from his (to Grantaire’s disgust) favourite band who were really just for teenage girls which he reminded the blonde of regularly, and the mocking smirk on his face transformed into a grin stretching for ear to ear. And then he kissed him and oh god Enjolras’s lips were crashing furiously against his, his nimble hands snaked around the back of his neck and played with the curls that were everywhere. Grantaire didn’t think he’d ever felt more alive.

Their foreheads rested against each other, and Grantaire felt every deep breath his Apollo took.

“Grantaire.” he murmured.

And then they broke apart and Enjolras looked at him like he finally understood. Like he saw Grantaire for the first time. And he took his hand, and he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i finally fucking finished it hoorah (oooh alliteration my english teacher would be proud)
> 
> thanks again to my beta inkonherhands, i'm sorry for the abrupt ending i couldn't deal with another unfinished story and yeah i hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to George Blagden's acapella cover of Apologise and I had this idea; I've never read any other fics prompted by that, so sorry for any similarities. 
> 
> Thank you to my beta Sophie (inkonherhands), and all feedback would be greatly appreciated as this is the first thing I've ever published. There will be another chapter up soon.


End file.
